When I was little, my parents brought home a puppy. We named him Duke. I fell in love with him. At that time in my life he was the best thing that happened to me. He was so small I kept him in a box. He ate everything I ate. When I didn’t eat my vegetables or something I didn’t like, he would be under the table and I would sneak him my food. He would eat it all up. That was my friend and partner.
But when he got big, we had to take him to South Carolina to live because the neighbors in the apartment complex complained he was defecating in the grass all over the neighborhood. A few years later he was shot and killed in someone’s yard while taking another dog’s food.
I was so upset I wanted to shoot the person who killed my beloved dog.
